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"It's called a Time Turner, Harry."

My old job entailed answering upwards of 50 questions a day. What's that for? Why do I have to? Why do you have to? How did that get here? When will this happen? Can I? Will you? Why not? Why, why, why?

And listening. What if the lamp fell off the table and we didn't have any lights and you couldn't see to make lunch and then we couldn't eat or make cookies or have fun and then we went outside and what if the baby ran away and we lost him and would we call the police and would they turn on their blue lights and what if they thought we were bad guys and took us to jail and oh, it's time to eat and these questions don'treallyrequireanswersonly patience.

Patience requirements shift to Them as they learn to be patient with me as I learn to stop answering my own questions out loud. They don't like that. They want to do it themselves in spite of all I know which is less today than yesterday. A young man learns to displace or he will belong to his mother forever.

My precarious resolve melts away when we are face to face. I'm not angry or disappointed or fearful or even sad just overwhelmed so I reach out. The scruffy thinness of his face is welcome and natural under my fingertips. A man becomes a boy again before my very eyes.

Fleeting. As I turn back, my boy is his own man again, ascending a ladder, adjusting a sign because that's his job today. Lost him again.

I come to relish my new job. A couple of sandwiches, a banana and a granola bar. A disposable cup of iced tea.

I ponder the conception of patience as I wait, freshly inspired, for him to come around for baked spaghetti and garlic bread with cookies and cream for dessert. It ain't such a bad job.

Comments

  1. It must be hard sometimes HeeWho to watch them grow and your relationship with them change. All of that in front of me. I am still wiping bottoms! Thanks for Rewinding x

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